Grayson most certainly did not have a 'keen mean streak'! He was as docile as a doe in the summer rain prancing through a field of daisies.
By the time that he realized she'd had the gall to slam into him he was seething with pain, his jaw set tightly. Merlin, she just had to run into his injured hand with her spastic movement, didn't she? He didn't cry out, but he made a very audible growl in his chest and glared in the direction the girl would have bounced back (yes, he was aware that she wasn't going to be able to move him) only to find that she was gone.
Wait, just gone? He cursed to himself and sighed, taking off down the hall. No need to get caught in the blood-spattered stairwell.
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